When Even Dreaming of an Education Is Bombarded

Imagine an Afghan girl walking to school. She carries her books tightly against her chest because her family cannot afford a school bag. In her other hand, a piece of bread and an onion - the only food she will have until evening. She is hungry. She is tired. But she walks. Because she still believes that education might change her life.

It’s a long narrow dirt path across dry land and stones. She gets to school, and there’s no school gate anymore. There’s no classroom filled with desks. Often, there is no building at all. Only open sky and a patch of ground where dozens of children gather. 

“I want to go to school every day and see my classmates learning together without fear,” says Muskan, a fourth-grade Teach For Afghanistan student.

They sit on the earth, notebooks worn, pencils nearly finished. A teacher stands before them, holding the fragile space together. And far above them, unseen at first, a multi-million-dollar AI equipped advanced fighter jet tears across the sky. They hear the familiar whistle of a bomb released onto homes, onto families, onto hospitals, onto communities where children are still learning how to read, how to write - how to dream.

This is Afghanistan.

One Night, One Classroom and a Country Still Bleeding

On 26 February, in Behsud District, an airstrike hit a family home near a school supported by Teach For Afghanistan. Inside were three generations. Eighteen people were killed. Only two survived: a father and his eight-year-old son, a second-grade student. Among the dead were children who studied in nearby schools.

At Gardekas Secondary School, five students were lost, from the eighth grade down to the first. The next morning, their classmates returned to school. Their seats were empty. No one instructed them what to do. Some brought flowers, and others placed small notes on the desks. For these children, grief has become a part of learning and not an interruption to it.

Across Afghanistan, classrooms are shaped by fear. “The conflict makes it hard to focus,” says Somia, a sixth-grade student. Teachers see the toll. “My students are mentally and emotionally affected. They cannot study as they did before,” says Mr. Abdul Waris Ihsan. In some areas, attendance has dropped dramatically. “The conflict caused fear and stress, and attendance fell by 50%,” says Ms. Walwala Numan, a Teach For Afghanistan teacher. Even where schools remain open, learning is fragile.

More than half of Afghanistan’s schools lack basic infrastructure. Many have no buildings, no desks, no chairs. Children sit on the ground under open skies. They walk long distances, often hungry, to attend class. “Our fear affects our learning,” says Shanza, a fifth-grade student. “I wish for a peaceful school where every child can study safely.” But still, they come. Because education remains their only hope.

A War the World Has Stopped Watching

There was a time when Afghans had one complaint above all others: that the world saw us only as numbers. So many killed without faces, names, or stories. Today, something even more painful is happening: even the numbers are disappearing. People are still being killed and families are still being torn apart. Villages are still being struck from the sky. But it is happening without attention. Explosions still shake entire communities. The sky still fills with fire above our homes and villages. But the world has looked away. 

As global attention shifts elsewhere, Afghanistan has faded from the headlines. The suffering has not stopped - only the world’s willingness to acknowledge it.  And when even the numbers are no longer counted, something dangerous takes hold: silence replaces accountability. Without attention, there are fewer questions, fewer consequences, fewer reasons for the violence to stop.

This is what Afghans fear most - not only the bombs themselves, but what happens when the world stops watching them fall.

What Are We Teaching Our Children?

Children do not learn only from books. They learn from what the world shows them. When communities are destroyed and the response is silence, a message takes hold that their suffering is normal, that their lives matter less. “The conflict has affected me mentally and emotionally,” says Anisa, a sixth-grade student. “I hope we can continue learning and help our community.” These are not lessons any child should have to learn.

And yet, despite everything, children keep coming to school. They walk across mountains. They sit on the ground. They learn through grief. They continue to dream - even when dreaming feels dangerous. Their resilience is extraordinary, but it should not be required.

Afghan Youth Leading the Way

As the largest youth-led Afghan local organization, Teach For Afghanistan is made up of people who, despite losing everything, refuse to lose hope. We continue to educate and empower young leaders. We teach children to love peace and to remain hopeful, even amid war. Through our partnership with Teach For All, Afghan children connect with peers around the world, learning empathy, respect, and global solidarity.

We believe, as is famously said, that the children of those who harm us must also be educated, nurtured, and loved. Only then can they grow into citizens who choose love over hatred, compassion over revenge, and hope over despair.

A Call to the World

If human rights and dignity are truly universal, they must be applied universally - not selectively, not only when convenient. Children are watching. They see which lives are protected, which suffering is acknowledged, and which is ignored. What they learn from this will shape the future.

No child should grow up believing their life matters less. Yet today, millions are quietly learning exactly that. The question is no longer whether the world knows. The question is whether it still cares - and what it is willing to do before even their dreams are taken away.